


soft against

by OrphanText



Category: Sky: Children of the Light (Video Game)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:35:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27368164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrphanText/pseuds/OrphanText
Summary: "The things that I want to do to you right now… you wouldn’t know half of it, would you? You have no idea how much I want to make you cry, the things I’d do just to see you beg for it, entirely at my mercy.”OC pairing: Ash/Fenning
Comments: 1
Kudos: 45





	soft against

**Author's Note:**

> This fic would not have been possible without Ri (@catallarii) enabling and fueling the thirst that comes upon me at wee hours in the morning and late into the quiet evenings.
> 
> Good god but I want to see them develop into a D/S relationship... somehow. 
> 
> OC characters belong to me, appearances based off of sky kids. Liberties have been taken with pretty much everything.
> 
> Un-betaed.

And. It’s certainly not the first time that Ash has ever done this—touched himself, that is—but not like this, with Fenning watching him closely, barely disguising the hunger in his expression as he works a hand down his body, cupping him gently through his shorts. The heat of his hand scalds him even through the barrier of the thin fabric, Ash hissing as he pushes up against his palm, cheeks shot through with heat when he realises what he’s just done.

If Fenning notices, he doesn’t remark on it. Instead, he hooks a finger into the waistband of Ash’s shorts, snapping it against his hip. “Off with this, too. Let me see you.”

“It’s—it’s nothing that you haven’t seen before, is it?” Ash’s throat clicks when he swallows, his mouth dry. Regardless, he does as he is told, lifting his hips and letting Fenning pull the scrap of fabric off of him, his hand lingering for a little too long on his calves. “You were there when we went for a swim in Sanctuary. You were only pretending not to be watching.”

“Only from a distance,” Fenning murmurs, not denying the accusation even as his gaze rakes hungrily over the new expanse of skin now exposed to him. “Besides, this is different. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“I’m,” Ash says intelligently, whimpering when Fenning palms him, fingers curling into the sheets pooling beneath him at the pleasure the friction sparks in him. “Wait, let me—”

“Go on, then,” Fenning says, chuckling as he pushes the glass bottle into Ash’s hand, nudging his knees further apart for a better view and leering when Ash yips in embarrassment. He catches a hold of Ash’s wrist before he can cover himself for modesty—not that there’s a use for any, really, considering the current circumstance that they’re in and the things they’re about to do—tucks two fingers under Ash’s chin and tips his head up for a kiss. “You have nothing to be ashamed of, Ash. I want to see you. You’re lovely as you are, and—show me how you pleasure yourself?”

The sharp click of the bottle cap in the taut silence between them is by far too loud, too harsh, the air in the room thinning out as a consequence. Ash nearly flinches at the sound, and pointedly does not look at Fenning while he slicks his palms up with lube, warming the liquid between his hands before reaching down into his lap. 

While it is tempting to go straight in for the obvious, Ash resists the urge and instead skims a palm slowly down the flat expanse of his belly, trailing fingertips over the inside of his thighs and brushing the back of his knuckles teasingly over the curve of his cock before dragging his hand away. As difficult as it is to be patient with himself when all he wants to do is to get off, he does want to put on a good show for Fenning. He’s breathless by the time he allows himself to curl a trembling hand around his cock, flushed and eager and slick with precum between his legs, the pleasure a sweeping relief that has him whimpering as he strokes himself languidly.

“Ah,” he says, his voice soft and wanting and jolting when Fenning reaches out to brush a thumb over his erect nipple, tweaking it sharply between thumb and forefinger. “Not so—not so hard.  _ Please _ .”

“Have you?” Fenning strokes the pad of his thumb over the hardened nub again, then again, progressively harder until Ash keens. “Ever played with yourself here?”

“No… well, once, but.” Ash feels his cheek redden with heat, and would have looked away if only Fenning would let him. “It didn’t do anything for me.”

“No?” Fenning hums thoughtfully, gentling the pressure as he traces circles with his fingertip instead. “But look, you’re responding so well. You make the sweetest noises if I just—like so?”

The lap of a hot tongue over his nipple is the only warning he gets before Fenning seals his mouth right over the spot where his fingers had been, Ash arching up into him and making quiet, sobbing noises into the pillows when he begins to suckle. He hadn’t been lying—when he’d been experimenting on his own, learning his own body with the curtains drawn tight over his windows, no amount of pinching or tugging or stroking or flicking could have brought him the same amount of pleasure this did. There’s teeth, then, scraping ever so lightly over sensitive skin, and Ash nearly comes on the spot, crying. “Fenning,  _ Fenning, please _ —”

“That’s what I thought,” Fenning murmurs, releasing him just when Ash is about to tip over the edge, one hand clutched tight around himself and trembling. He whines, then, Fenning rewarding him with a kiss, guiding his other hand up to his chest and pressing his fingertips down against spit-wet skin, grinding. Ash whimpers, jerks, and tries to pull his hand away, but Fenning holds him fast. “Here. Touch yourself here, too. Use the pads of your fingers, not your nails.”

“Don’t!” Ash tries to pull away again, desperation lending a panicked edge to his voice. “Don’t, please. I’m—I’ll come.”

“That’s rather the objective, I’m afraid.” Fenning hushes him, kissing him until he quiets down, brushing a hand through his hair and pressing his lips to his forehead. “Will you? Or shall I?”

The thought of Fenning’s hand on him has his mind stuttering, desire a heady drug in his veins until he goes giddy with it. Ash nods before he can think himself out of it, shifting to lie back fully against the pillows and spreading his legs wider for him, offering himself up for his taking. 

Despite having fumbled with each other over the course of their relationship, there is nothing that could have prepared him for this: the first brush of Fenning’s hand over his cock knocks the breath out of him, Ash gasping and arching up shamelessly into him while Fenning milks him in slow, firm pulls. The friction is—not overwhelming, not really, but when Fenning curls his fingers over the tip and traces the wetness from his skin, bringing them up to his lips to taste, Ash bites down on his bottom lip and groans from how much it takes for him to keep from coming. 

“Don’t hold back.” Fenning slips a thumb into the corner of his mouth, voice rough with want as his hand pumps faster, working Ash up unrelentlessly towards an orgasm. “Elders above—you’re so responsive. The things that I want to do to you right now… you wouldn’t know half of it, would you? You have no idea how much I want to make you cry, the things I’d do just to see you beg for it, entirely at my mercy.”

Ash comes with Fenning’s name on his lips, Fenning keeping his hips spread wide apart with an arm hooked under his knee, petting him as he spurts on his own belly, gasping, his hands clenched into the sheets. He’s still riding the high of it when Fenning leans down to kiss him, licking into his mouth and guiding his hand down to the erection he’s still sporting, trousers tenting around it.

“Oh,” Ash says, eyes wide even as he palms him, fingertips tracing the outlines of his cock and rubbing down ever so slightly against the dampness spreading around the tip. Apart from a sharp intake of breath, Fenning does nothing to stop him, though his knuckles go white around the headboard, shuddering. “May I?”

“Only if you promise not to think too badly of me if I finish too quickly,” Fenning’s hand is trembling ever so slightly when he covers his hand with his own, golden eyes dark with lust as draws Ash into his lap, uncaring of the mess dripping onto his clothes, a sticky smear between them. “Or you can watch. If you want.”

“I want to,” Ash says, his tongue tripping over the words in a hurry before his courage can fail him. “Touch you. If you’d… let me?”

“Oh,” Fenning says, his grin going wide and wicked as he pulls the hair tie off of his braid. “You’re always welcome to do more than just that.”


End file.
